


Eden's Cradle

by veridian



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Fix-It, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridian/pseuds/veridian
Summary: When Belial attempts to resurrect Lucilius, Lucifer manages to regain control of his body—but something isn't right. It's up to Sandalphon to prevent the skies' destruction...and Lucifer's, as well.Written for "Our Side of Paradise", a Lucisan zine with an emphasis on happy ends.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	Eden's Cradle

**Author's Note:**

> it was an honor to be invited to work on "our side of paradise" with everyone. without making this preface too long, i'm so proud of everyone's work—it's a fantastic zine. here's the piece that i wrote for it!

“The trouble with trying something that’s never been tried before is there’s no way to know how it’s going to work out,” Belial mutters to himself, staring down at the coffin containing Lucifer’s body, paying the arrival of the supreme primarch and the singularity little mind. Mysteries like that had long been the lifeblood of the Astral researchers, much like the one Belial seeks to return to the realm of the skies. But for Belial, the thought of this not working has always been a thorn in his side. Unpredictability is well and good when it’s to his advantage, when he can use the opportunity afforded to him by surprise in order to get the jump on his enemies.

So in the moments when Lucifer’s body moves, when perfectly sculpted arms lift their equally perfect body off the ground, his heart stops.

Sandalphon’s heart does too, as his eyes are compulsively drawn to the jagged circular scar around the neck that used to belong to someone dear to him.

“Belial?” Lucilius murmurs, blue eyes narrowing in confusion.

“Damn it!” An indignant shout from Sandalphon, sword clenched in his hand and teeth clenched even harder, rings out as he lunges forward to cleave Lucilius’s head from his borrowed body, even though everyone around him can see the very thought of beheading him again is enough to make him sick.

But those eyes flicker over toward Sandalphon, and something like fondness blooms in them, and the sword comes to a halt a hair’s breadth from his neck. Sandalphon stutters, hands shaking, scrunching up his face in an effort to hide the tears welling up in his eyes from Djeeta and Lyria. How dare he. How dare Lucilius look at him like that, when he knows that it’s exactly like the way—

“Sandalphon,” he breathes, and hands reach out to gently cup his face. “You received my message.”

Belial, not five feet away, has made a quick shift in demeanor from confident to utterly perplexed, and even that’s threatening to fade away to indignation. “What the hell?” he scoffs, striding over to grab one of Lucilius’s arms. “Cilius, are you feeling all right?”

“He certainly must be angry at me.” The arm in Belial’s grip goes lax. “He wanted this body of mine for himself.” A hand flexes carefully, as though testing its own muscles. “But he should have known better than anyone else that cores are more resilient than they appear.”

Belial moves to let go of the arm that undoubtedly still belongs to Lucifer; however, it’s already too late, and the bright burst of light that rushes forth from his palm leaves the fallen angel rolling on the ground, clutching at his eyes. Sandalphon can only breathlessly watch as Lucifer awkwardly, painfully slowly moves over to him, crouching at his side.

“I trusted you once. I will not make that mistake again, Belial.”

There’s a cold feeling in Sandalphon’s gut at his tone. Even when they fought, all those years ago, he’d never sounded so cold. Even when it had been his duty as the supreme primarch to fight people he’d once considered precious to him—Belial himself included—there had been an unmistakable pain in his voice, even though he never held back his strength for a moment. At the time, Sandalphon had only thought it an act, but now, after gaining some perspective beyond his own self-centered views, he’s never been more certain of its authenticity. And that makes his demeanor here very strange. Belial in particular has been especially troublesome to deal with, but even so, Lucifer is a merciful person. 

Which is why the spears of light that impale him shock Sandalphon to the core. He barely spares a thought for the person they’re embedded in, since he’d intended to run him through himself, but as Lucifer turns back to face him, disregarding the bleeding fallen angel on the floor, the unease he feels only grows.

“Lucifer,” he says haltingly. “Are you feeling all right?”

Lucifer pauses, laughing warmly. “The same question. And yet, it sounds so different when you ask it.” He leaves Belial to choke on his own blood, lurching forward; it seems he’s still having difficulty adjusting to having a body again.

It’s not an answer, but Sandalphon knows better than to demand one. Instead, he keeps his eyes locked on Lucifer as he walks past him, surveying the makeshift coffin that he’d been sleeping in just minutes prior. “Why are you…that is, I thought Belial was trying to resurrect Lucilius.”

“He was.” Lucifer reaches to touch the coffin’s smooth inner surface. “It would have succeeded, had I not predicted this outcome. Those two dear old friends of mine…have always been each other’s weaknesses, really. In my moments of consciousness before my link to this world faded…I embedded my energy into my own core, to ensure I would be able to retain control of my own body.” He looks over at Sandalphon, that fond light in his eyes again. “Though I was able to send most of it to you, I apologize that I could not bestow upon you my full power.”

“So that’s why it was always running out…?” Sandalphon grits his teeth, simultaneously unnerved and impressed. Even that much had been enough to make him feel like his body was going to come apart every time he used it. “Could you not have told me that in Canaan?”

“Was it you that I was speaking to?”

Another question avoided, but Sandalphon nods regardless. “I was the one who…found you, after…”

Lucifer sighs, shoulders slumping. “I’m truly sorry. It was never my intent to make you see something as grisly as my own remains.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Sandalphon mumbles, gaze falling to the floor. It seems like the only suitable response to give.

Something enters his field of vision and he turns to look; it’s Lucifer’s hand, extended to him. He asks something, but the words are so unbelievable that Sandalphon has to ask him to repeat them. Hearing them a second time only serves to make him feel sick.

“Do you still harbor a desire to destroy this world, Sandalphon?”

He hears Djeeta shift her weight behind him and the telltale sound of a sword being brought to a fighting position, and he frantically throws his arms out to his sides, blocking her from making any sudden movements. “Of course not. It was your words that convinced me to protect it, and I…although I saw little value in it last we met, my time among mortals has given me reason to do so even were it not your final request of me.”

Lucifer doesn’t react, hand still outstretched, but there’s a sudden chill in the air. A loud, hysterical wheeze suddenly punctuates the silence, and Sandalphon’s gaze snaps to Belial, still on the floor, evidently unable to heal his own grievous wounds despite the power bestowed upon him by the wings he stole from his comrade. “So that’s how it is,” he says between ragged gasps, and Sandalphon narrows his eyes.

“What’s going on?” he asks lowly, a menacing growl in his voice.

“You think I’m just gonna tell you?” Belial retorts, defiant even on death’s door. “I spent…two thousand years waiting for this opportunity. And if I can’t have Cilius back…if I can’t carry out his plan for him…” He laughs painfully. “Then you’re not getting your precious Lucifer back either, Sandy.”

Sandalphon still doesn’t know what’s going on, but that’s enough to confirm the growing, dreadful suspicion that’s been building in his gut.

The person in front of him is undoubtedly Lucifer, but he isn’t the same person he knew.

Finally, Lucifer withdraws his hand, hurt and rejection clearly scrawled all over his face. “I am proud of you,” he says, almost mournfully. “You are a splendid supreme primarch. You will do wonderful things for the skies, should they survive me.”

“Stop,” Sandalphon says weakly. It's the only word he can remember exists. This isn't what he wanted. How joyously he would have reveled in destroying this world a short time ago—and to have the approval of Lucifer, besides! It would have been a dream to the Sandalphon who sought to end the sky realm. But as he is now, he wants none of this.

Even so, a part of him longs to take his hand anyway, just for the sake of doing it. For the chance to be by his side again, just one more time, even at the cost of everything else he holds dear.

“I'm afraid I cannot do that,” Lucifer says, snapping him out of his own terrifying thoughts, a sad smile on his face.

“Then I'll stop you,” Sandalphon replies, without hesitation. He doesn't know what's going on, and he might not ever learn, if Belial wordlessly cackling on the floor is any indication. “The same way you stopped me. In the laboratory, and here in the skies.” Were this anyone else, he'd grip the hilt of his sword for emphasis, but his arms hang lifelessly at his sides, as though they're still catching up to the unfathomable, horrific truth his mind has no choice but to accept. “You…”

He hesitates, word lumping together in his throat into a mass of everything he wants to say. Lucifer patiently smiles at him, just like always, waiting for him to finish. When he does, he can only manage one sentence: “You can be proud of me once I have.”

The warmth in Lucifer’s eyes never leaves them as his wings manifest behind him. The familiar, beautiful plumage of the supreme primarch’s wings is always majestic to behold, but there’s something wrong. The middle pair, leathery, black, and imposing, starkly contrast with the pure white of his feathers, and it’s now that Sandalphon notices that the dark scraps of what he’d assumed was poorly fashioned armor seem to pulsate around Lucifer’s body, akin to a mortal heartbeat. It’s so wretched in appearance, just like that new set of wings, that they must be related, but he barely has time to register the thought before Lucifer begins speaking again.

“The mysteries that plagued my old friend were unknowable to me for millennia. I struggled to understand him…and my failure resulted in his death. I believed ending his life to be the correct thing to do in order to ensure the sky realm’s survival.” He takes a step forward. “And my failure to understand what the generations of archangels that came after me…resulted in riots at the laboratories, easily swayed as they were by the sweet words of a man I once considered like a brother to me.” Sandalphon knows from seeing Lucifer’s memories that he’s referring to Belial; he glances over at him, but he’s gone silent, not even punctuating the one-sided conversation with noises.

“Lucifer, is he—”

“ _And_ ,” Lucifer continues, pointedly, interrupting Sandalphon in a manner he never has before, “my failure to understand your feelings…has brought us to this moment. My friend and creator, slain by my hand. My brother and adjutant, fated to meet the same end, if he has not already.” He looks at Sandalphon imploringly, voice breaking with emotion as he makes a plaintive request. “Please, Sandalphon. Don’t make me kill you, too.”

“Lucifer,” he begins, but the voice of a young woman behind him is quicker than his own.

“Lucifer!” Lyria calls, determination and anxiety bundled into her voice. “What’s the matter? Why would you hurt Sandalphon? Don’t you want to reconcile? He’s worked so hard, and…!”

“This realm is a culmination of my failures,” Lucifer coolly replies. “The suffering you and your friends have endured at Belial’s hands, the millennia of solitude Sandalphon was forced into…”

“That’s not true.” Sandalphon clenches his fists at his side. “That wasn’t your fault! Please, Lucifer, listen to me. I’ve seen your memories ever since receiving your powers. Your suffering, your loneliness, I bore witness to it all, and I’ve realized how selfish I was to—”

For the first time since waking up, Lucifer’s countenance falters, but that warm, patient look on his face is back almost before Sandalphon can register it disappeared in the first place. “I have been the selfish one. And this is my atonement. I have ruined all that I once held dear…and so, it has become my responsibility to wipe away the destruction I’ve left in my wake.”

Sandalphon bristles and moves to take a step toward him, but Lucifer moves his arm, the clouds part above him, and he freezes. He remembers this attack, searing and brilliant as it had been when he was on the receiving end of it all those years ago; his own efforts at replicating it since taking on Lucifer’s mantle have been dull and weak in comparison.

“Don’t do this,” he murmurs, but Lucifer only smiles at him.

When the light falls from heaven to earth, bringing the blissful paradise of oblivion down with it, Sandalphon’s body moves instinctively. Despite understanding how much of a threat Lucifer poses, he’s not the only one here, and of the three of them, he’s the most durable. He leaps to grab Lyria and holds her close to his body with one arm, clutching Djeeta’s wrist with the other and dragging her with him. There’s nowhere to hide, but even if there were, there’s little durable enough to withstand a full-force attack from Lucifer. He hears Lyria cry out, then feels a warm rush as the gem set into her dress glows a deep blue and a giant made of metal appears, standing over them and protecting them with its body as they make a hasty retreat, standing firm even as its protective barrier is shredded, its arms are torn from its torso, and Lyria sobs to see it in such a state.

They barely make it back to the Grandcypher before the island starts to splinter beneath their feet, and Sandalphon makes sure he’s the last one to make it onboard. If the ground crumbles, he can fly; the same can’t be said of Lyria or Djeeta.

The ship hangs in the airspace above the island. Lyria clings to Sandalphon, trembling, as she watches it come apart entirely, its pieces tumbling to the bottom of the sky. “Do you think Belial will make it off the island?” she asks quietly.

It's just like her to be concerned about an enemy. Djeeta and Sandalphon exchange a look behind her back. “I'm sure if anyone _could_ manage to escape, it would be him,” Sandalphon replies after a brief pause. But there's no love lost between them, so he thinks little of it once he answers the question, already on the way back to his room. He hears two sets of footsteps follow closely behind him, but he's got more important things to think about. Something has to be done about this before Lucifer can find more islands to destroy—unless his plan is to get rid of them all in one go? He doesn't know enough about how this Lucifer thinks to make a guess either way, he realizes bitterly.

Then again, it’s not like he ever understood him before, either, and the realization that nothing has ultimately changed seeps into his core and sinks, cold, down to the depths of his soul. Last time he’d misconstrued Lucifer’s intentions, the sky realm had nearly perished for it; this time, though the roles of attacker and defender have switched, the stakes are similarly high. He can’t afford to misjudge him again.

“Sandalphon,” Djeeta says gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know that look! Don't blame yourself for this.”

“It can't lie with anyone else.” If he had never gone on his rampage, Lucifer would never have descended to the skies to stop him. He never would have been placed in the cradle. And Lucifer wouldn't have been in Canaan to be attacked in the first place. “Singularity, I…”

“I know,” she says. “We're putting everything else on hold until we find a way to save him.”

“You're awfully optimistic.”

“Because I know you won't be.” She smiles encouragingly. “But we need a plan. He might be the strongest thing we've ever gone up against…it's hard to imagine something stronger than you, though.” She's no doubt referring to him at his most powerful, stolen wings elevating him beyond most imaginable levels. They'd had to ram him with an Astral warship, using not just Raphael's power but Yggdrasil's and Uriel's as well; two primarchs and a primal created during the war just to knock him out of the skies.

And Lucifer is far more powerful than Sandalphon could ever hope to be.

“I have an idea,” he says, slowly, “but it may not be to your liking.”

“Try me,” she replies, steely determination setting in her eyes.

Not an hour later, he does just that. He invites the four primarchs to hear him out as well. After all, they're far from uninvolved in all of this—and it will be the man who they used to serve who he'll be facing. Any information they might have could prove useful.

The first question is from Michael. “Will you fight Lucifer?” She fixes him with an intense, hawkish gaze, the meaning behind the question not lost on him.

“I believe you already know the answer. Every time I have fought him, I’ve failed. Now isn’t the right time to try again what I already know won't work.”

She leans back a little, satisfied with his answer, but follows up with a question no one in the room is expecting. “And if we were to give you our wings? Would you fight him then, on more even ground?”

He hesitates. Last time he’d had six wings, his defeat had been sealed before Lucifer ever deigned to face him directly. He's never had an opportunity to compare their power. And for a long moment, he considers it. Between the power of the four primarchs, and the fragment of Lucifer's power as well, could he win?

But he screws his eyes shut, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not how I want to handle this. Lucifer…he deserves better than for me to give up on him. Not after he refused to give up on me.”

Michael’s eyes narrow as she considers his answer, her expression nigh unreadable. Eventually, she clasps her hands together in front of her, and when she pulls them apart, a single cream-colored plume lies between them.

“Take it,” she says, holding it out to him.

“I just told you—”

“It’s because that’s what you just told me that I’m trusting you with this,” she says, finality in her tone as she grabs one of his hands and presses her feather into his palm. “If you won’t be fighting, you will need as much time as you can handle while you set up whatever your gambit is, and it seems we cannot trust Lucifer to be as patient as he once was. Right, supreme primarch?”

Sandalphon’s throat goes dry and he can’t respond. He’s at even more of a loss for words when Raphael wordlessly offers his own wings to him, and then Gabriel does the same. He’s staring down in wonderment at the feathers gathered in his hands when Raphael clears his throat, looking expectantly at Uriel.

“What?” he replies, waving a massive hand. “We haven’t even heard his plan yet, and you’re handing your wings over without making him explain himself? Come on.”

Raphael sighs, offering Sandalphon an apologetic shrug. Sandalphon shrugs right back, carefully cradling the feathers. “He’s right. At least allow me to tell you what it is that I plan to do, and then let me know if you still think giving me these wings is the right course of action.”

As he explains his plan, Djeeta proves his earlier assumption wrong by approving wholeheartedly. It’s reckless, risky, and relies on him taking solo action—it had been the latter he’d been worried about, to be perfectly honest, considering that she herself has spearheaded many operations that the first two words describe perfectly—but she puts it best when he finishes speaking and everyone else falls into a contemplative lull.

“I think it’s great,” she says, sincerity obvious in her eyes. “It’s a plan that only you could have come up with, and I think that means it’s our best shot to defeating Lucifer without having to fight him.” She looks over at the primarchs. “You all agree with me, right?”

Gabriel is the first to nod, giving Sandalphon a grin that manages to be both soothing and mischievous. “I think you’re right. It can work, but it can only work because it’s Sandalphon.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Michael grumbles, but she notably doesn’t object to the plan itself. “As his former adjutant, I’m sure that I would be able to—”

“You know I think you’re amazing, but you also know that I’m right,” Gabriel responds, the glimmer in her eyes only getting brighter. Michael huffs in response and turns away.

“I approve,” Raphael says, succinctly as ever. Uriel grimaces like he knew the answer was coming, and as five sets of eyes bore into him, he furrows his brows even further as he tries to word his response.

“The truth is,” he says, “I can’t come up with anything better. I’ve never really been any good at this whole planning thing, so if the other three think there’s merit to it, then I trust them.” He pauses, glances at Sandalphon. “And…if you pull this off? I’ll trust you, too.” He extends his arm and motions for Sandalphon to do the same, dropping a plume of his own into the supreme primarch’s outstretched hand. “So make me eat everything I’ve said about you this past year, yeah?”

“What have you said?” Sandalphon asks, frowning, but Djeeta interrupts before Uriel can respond.

“Then it’s decided! We’ll put the plan into action tomorrow, after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. I wish I could run on nothing but coffee like you,” she teases, prodding Sandalphon in the ribs. “You’re certain you know where Lucifer will be?”

“Not certain, but I have a feeling.”

“Ugh,” grumbles Uriel, crossing his arms. “Can't believe we're really about to do this.”

“You could at least _try_ to be supportive,” Gabriel gently chides him. “He's giving it his all, so we have to, as well.”

“You realize if you fail, it means the destruction of the realm,” Raphael says, calm as ever despite the gravity of his words. “We will only have one chance to try anything at all. As it is, I think the plan you’ve put forth has as good a chance of success as anything we can expect, but there’s still something I must ask you. Is this really the best plan you can come up with, Sandalphon?”

“Yes.” Sandalphon replies with absolute certainty. “This is the only thing that I _can_ do for him.”

“Then I’ll tell Rackam to be at our destination by sunrise.” Djeeta grins widely. “I might not have much to do in this plan, but we’ll all be here for your moral support.”

“Thank you,” he says, surprised at how much he means it.

A few scant hours pass, and the Grandcypher anchors itself on a familiar island. It’s picturesque, a wide open field of grass on one side and steep, stark cliffs on the other. Djeeta grimaces just looking at it. “You’re not allowed to touch my hand until we leave the island, alright? I don’t want you ruining my delicate fingers.”

“Are you really—” Sandalphon snaps at her, but he’s cut off by a soft exhalation of surprise from a familiar voice. He turns sharply, gritting his teeth. Even though he knew he’d be here, it’s still not any less painful to see Lucifer in the state he’s in.

“You survived?” he asks, tilting his head. “You survived,” he repeats, suddenly overcome with relief. “Oh, thank goodness, Sandalphon, I…”

“Lucifer,” Sandalphon interrupts. “I have a proposal for you. Let’s fight, one last time.”

“I have no desire to fight you.” The response is immediate, as though Lucifer can’t believe Sandalphon is even suggesting it. Truthfully, Sandalphon can’t believe he’s suggesting it, either; even though it isn’t a truthful suggestion, the mere thought of attempting to match him in combat is still laughable. But this is how it has to go, because the next step is—

“If you win, I’ll join you.”

Lucifer’s eyes light up in a way Sandalphon has never seen. “Really?” he asks, the hope in his voice practically tangible in the air. Sandalphon swallows thickly and nods. He didn’t know Lucifer could make expressions like this. He wonders, briefly, what else he doesn’t know, what else he hasn’t been able to glean from the memories that flicker through his mind every once in a while, but he shoves aside the impulse to imagine it.

“But if you lose, then you’ll stop trying to destroy the skies. Do you understand?”

“Do you?” Lucifer responds.

Sandalphon’s breath catches in his throat. He understands perfectly. What he’s saying, what he’s offering, how slim his chances of victory are. “Yes,” he chokes out, “I understand.” He gestures to the other side of the island, far away from the Grandcypher, eager to get it and its crew out of the path of any potential collateral damage. “I’ll be waiting for you, Lucifer.”

His simple brown wings flutter nervously on his back as he makes his way to his chosen point. His hands take over for them, shuddering, as they vanish and he touches down on the ground. No sooner does he look up than he sees Lucifer, following closely behind him. If nothing else, he’s still honest, even as twisted as he is.

And it’s that simple observation that causes his hands to stop shaking. Because if he’s still honest…if he’s still anything at all like Sandalphon remembers, then this just might work.

“I won’t hold back,” Lucifer says. “Nothing would make me happier than being by your side again, Sandalphon…there’s so much I want to discuss with you once we’ve been reunited, I have so much to apologize for…”

“I’m the one who should be saying that,” he responds, drawing his sword. “And I’ll have even more to apologize for after today.”

“Indeed,” Lucifer agrees, his affectionate smile giving his words an unnerving air. “You’ll have the entire sky realm to apologize to.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, Sandalphon leaps forward, but his blow is easily deflected by one of Lucifer’s own katanas; he’s surprised to see him using them, after his display of power the other day, but far be it from him to look a gift horse in the mouth in his current circumstances. The longer this drags on, the better his chances get, after all.

As though sensing his intent to stall, however, Lucifer immediately draws a second katana, and Sandalphon barely manages to avoid a flurry of sword strikes. He feels and hears the blade of one scraping against his armor, and he curses under his breath, diving to get away from it, only to find a third sword embedded in the floor in front of him, a hair’s breadth from cutting his nose from his face. Lucifer wasn’t kidding; he has no intention to pull any of his punches. All he can do is run, because if he wastes even a moment trying to get in a counterattack it will become an opening.

“Do you hate me, Sandalphon?” Lucifer asks mid-strike, as though he isn’t trying to stab Sandalphon in the ribs.

“I thought I did once,” he replies, grunting from exertion as he hauls himself to his feet and bends his knees, awaiting the next blow to dodge. “But I’ve never hated you, Lucifer. I still don’t. And no matter what happens today, I never will.”

“What a relief,” Lucifer sighs. “The depth of your resentment for me on this island all that time ago concerned me for a long time. It consumed my every thought…I wondered what I could have done to avoid being hated by the person I cherished the most. I was so afraid to confront you…”

He’s being unusually forthcoming, but that, too, plays in Sandalphon’s favor. “I thought _you_ hated _me_ ,” he says. “For two thousand years, I believed nothing other than my own self-centered view of the world…but as I was telling you, I saw how lonely you were. I saw how conflicted you were, torn between your role and your own desires…”

Lucifer falters, the same way he did the first time Sandalphon brought it up.

“I saw you failing to come to terms with the fact that you couldn’t understand what drove me to rebel. I didn’t know that you only came to the battlefield once, Lucifer. Were you really going to leave me to Belial? Or is that why you came to that fight…because you wanted to kill me yourself, before anyone else could?” The words hurt to say, his insides twist with every syllable, but they’re hurting Lucifer just as much. His swings become a little wider, his composed expression starts to fall apart, and the focus in his gaze loosens. “Do you know even now what drove me to fight against you two thousand years ago?”

Every muscle in Lucifer’s body stops immediately. His eyes are blown wide, brimming with unspoken anguish. The first truly painful blow is Sandalphon’s.

And for the plan to work, that’s all he needs.

“Lucifer,” he says gently, the rainbow colors of the primarch’s wings folding out from above his own pair, “I’m sorry for not realizing why you distanced yourself from me.” He drops his sword. “Take solace in my core while I make things right.”

“What?”

Before he can make another move, Lucifer’s body has already begun to dissolve into particles of light, much in the same way that Sandalphon’s did on this very same island. The process only takes a moment or two; once he’s completely vanished, Sandalphon only has the lightly blowing wind for company.

He lifts a hand, the other pressed flat against his core. He hadn't been sure that this would work. But the fragment of Lucifer's power in Sandalphon's core called out for its source, and the primarchs' wings bolstered it. And so, despite Lucifer's overwhelming strength, all it took was a moment of distraction for the very same article of faith he had once entrusted to Sandalphon to ensnare him.

Now all that remains is to rehabilitate him.

Sandalphon has never made a seraphim cradle before, but it isn’t bad for a first try, he thinks to himself. This is where Lucifer stopped, in his own process; this is where he lost the courage to continue, simply observing and hoping Sandalphon would someday awake.

Sandalphon, however, isn’t nearly as patient. He knows, after all; he knows that even a few moments can stretch on for what seems like forever. It’s because of his familiarity with this method that he chose it, after all. So without a moment of hesitation, he closes his eyes, caresses the soft, glowing plumes of the cradle, and asks to be let in.

When he opens his eyes, his surroundings are dark, and the whole place smells of spilled chemicals, rust, and blood. He can make out familiar details—crumbling laboratory buildings, collapsed pillars, corpses and unconscious angels he recognizes from millennia ago. The air itself pulses with an oppressive, intimidating rhythm.

At the center of it all is Lucifer, six pure white wings, sitting in a three-legged chair at an overturned table, surrounded by fragments of coffee cups.

“Lucifer,” he calls, and the former supreme primarch looks up at him, startled.

“Sandalphon,” he says, fear in his voice. “Please, don’t show me this. Not again. If I have to see him hurt even one more time, then I…”

“Lucifer,” Sandalphon repeats, “I don’t know what horrible visions you’ve been seeing…” A lie. He endures the same kind of visions every night when he dreams of Lucifer; that much he can tell just from the look in the other angel’s eyes. “But it’s really me. I’m here.”

Lucifer stares at him, confusion turning into skepticism—but when nothing happens to him, he seems to relax a little. He glances around for something to offer to Sandalphon as a seat, but nothing remains, so he just withdraws a little into himself, ashamed that he can’t offer even something as simple as that.

“What happened to you?” Sandalphon asks. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“I have an idea,” Lucifer says, his tone despondent. “I’m not entirely conscious. Or, rather, I’m in charge of deciding what to do…but not how it is done.” He looks up toward the grotesque, crimson sky. “I was successful in fighting off Lucilius’s control of my body, but the process Belial used to fuse it to his head resulted in corruption of my core.”

Sandalphon pauses, dumbfounded. What sort of method could do that to a core as resilient as Lucifer's? In the end, though, he supposes it doesn't really matter, at least not right now; if things work out the way he wants, if he needs answers at a later date, a certain alchemical genius on the Grandcypher is sure to be curious enough to take a crack at it.

“Then, your desire to destroy the skies…”

Lucifer’s eyes widen; it seems like he hadn’t expected things on the outside to be that bad. “I suspect it must come from my regrets. I’ve always, always run away from things I should have confronted head on…”

“That’s exactly right. You said…that it was your fault that I had suffered, and that the world was a result of your mistakes.”

Lucifer smiles sadly, refusing to give an answer, which is in itself an answer of its own.

“But even if that’s the case,” Sandalphon continues, “it’s a beautiful place. It’s chaotic, it’s loud, and I don’t understand so much of it. Mortals confound me more and more every day. It’s nothing like life in the laboratory. Nothing like how I lived mine, and nothing how you lived yours. I don’t see how you can’t be proud of it.”

Of course, he knows why. Lucifer has never been permitted to understand the path of evolution humanity has taken. He has guided it, made judgments based on what he believed was correct, but he has never experienced it for himself.

Sandalphon’s plan—the only way he can think of to stop Lucifer’s rampage—is to remedy that.

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple,” Lucifer says, hooking the broken handle of a coffee cup onto his index finger.

“You’re right.” Sandalphon shifts and tilts his body a bit, trying to remain in Lucifer’s line of sight at all times. “It isn’t. I would have said that a while ago, too. But then the supreme primarch forgave me, as though it _were_ all that simple.”

Lucifer pauses. The porcelain hook slips and shatters on the ground.

“It was like being dropped into the ocean without being taught how to swim. I didn’t understand. To be honest, I still don’t think I do.” Sandalphon reaches down, spotting something in the rubble, continuing to speak as he brushes broken bits of wood and stone away. “But I don’t need to. And you don’t need to understand, either.”

He hands Lucifer an unscathed coffee cup.

“All I needed was you. And perhaps it’s presumptuous of me to assume that I can help in the same way, but…”

“No,” Lucifer murmurs, turning the cup over in his hand. “For millennia…for as long as you have been alive, Sandalphon…you are all I have ever needed.”

The words are too late to stop the cataclysms from happening; they are too late to undo the damage Sandalphon has done to the skies and to himself. They are too late to bolster a young primal beast's flagging confidence; they are too late to prevent him from joining a rebellion, from breaking out of Pandemonium, from letting his own core threaten to bubble over with resentment and longing and, despite everything, love.

Even so, to hear them from the very person he'd wanted to all those lifetimes ago seems to lift a weight from his soul.

“Lucifer,” he says, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and a lump in his throat. “I’ve waited—for so long, I’ve—”

“I know,” Lucifer responds. “I should have said it much sooner.” He puts the cup down on the ruined table, looks over his shoulder as though to see if something’s there. When all that greets his gaze is an overturned stool, he sighs and turns back to Sandalphon. “I wish it had not taken so long for me to realize the extent of my failures.”

“You can’t be blamed for that,” Sandalphon argues, mouth moving before his mind can catch up.

“I can. And I do blame myself.” Lucifer carefully repositions the cup on the table. “After all, I loved you so much, Sandalphon. To this day, I love you. And yet, you felt you were alone. For all the love in my heart, I never let an ounce of it seep through to you.”

“For the good of the—”

“How could the skies have achieved perfect evolution,” Lucifer interrupts, for the second time in his life, “while you remained sealed out of them? Whether that be in Pandemonium or in the garden, how could I say that what I had achieved was the apex when the one I wanted to share the skies with most could not even see them?”

When Sandalphon falls silent, Lucifer gives him an apologetic glance, turning his attention to the wood grain on the table.

Sandalphon struggles with how to respond. He’s already told Lucifer he thinks the skies are wonderful. But if that’s the only problem…if his absence from the skies is what Lucifer thinks the biggest issue with his blueprint for evolution is, then the answer is simple. “I have seen them now, Lucifer.”

Lucifer’s fingers, tracing a jagged edge on the table’s surface, come to a halt. “You have, haven’t you,” he says slowly.

“And now, I think you should be able to see them the way you always envisioned them. Full of energetic mortals, healthy civilizations…” He hesitates; it still doesn’t feel right to hold himself in any sort of regard, even something as simple as this. But he continues, voice wavering slightly, “And I will be by your side, Lucifer. Forever, if you’ll have me.”

“Nothing would make me happier. But, Sandalphon…what will you do if I’m still not myself after emerging from this cradle?”

“Then I’ll visit you here every day until you are.”

Lucifer exhales shakily, and Sandalphon swears he sees tears welling up in his eyes before the world shatters around the two of them.

He blinks and shakes his head to rid himself of the dots clouding his vision, remnants of the brilliant flash of the cradle opening all at once. His heart sinks when he sees that the figure dragging himself to a sitting position still has black, leathery wings. It was a mistake to drop his sword; at the very least, he should have sheathed it, just in case something like this happened, but it’s too late for that now.

Lucifer manages to shakily stand, but rather than reach for one of his own weapons, strewn about the field like forgotten laundry, he reaches for Sandalphon himself, pulling him into an embrace. “I have always, always wanted to do this,” he breathes, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I love you, Sandalphon.”

“I love you, too, Lucifer,” Sandalphon murmurs, chuckling to himself as Lucifer’s grip around his waist tightens.

It’s slightly troubling, however, when the embrace continues to linger far beyond what Sandalphon supposes is normal. He’s enjoying it, but he does lightly tap Lucifer’s shoulder. “The Singularity will doubtless be worried if we linger,” he says.

“Let her worry,” Lucifer mumbles.

Despite his previous misgivings about how much he does and doesn’t understand about the former supreme primarch, Sandalphon knows that’s not like him. But the contentment in his voice warms his heart, so he sighs and lets himself melt into his arms the way he’s always dreamed of.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he awakes, it’s because Djeeta is kicking him awake. “All right, lazybones, up and at ‘em!” she says, arms crossed indignantly. “We were worried sick about you, but we show up and you’re curled up in some big feathery love nest?” The way she’s trying to fight back a grin belies her true mood, though she’s doing her best to seem stern in front of the rest of the crew.

Lucifer blinks awake, staring up at her with a mixture of emotions on his face. “Singularity,” he says quietly. “Is there room on your airship for one more person?”

“There always is,” she says, offering him a hand. Lucifer takes it gratefully. She turns to Sandalphon, but rather than offer him her hand, she produces a short length of rope.

“ _Really_ , Singularity? Now, of all times?” Sandalphon slaps the rope away and stands by himself, dusting off the back of his clothing. “Lucifer, are you sure you wouldn’t rather join a different crew instead? One more appreciative of its members, perhaps?”

“I quite like this one,” he says. “After all, they are important to you, aren’t they?”

“They are, but…” Sandalphon pauses to find his words. “In all seriousness, are you sure you wouldn’t like to settle down in a human town for a while to acclimate? The life of a skyfarer is fraught with chaos, after all.”

Lucifer gives him a handsome, eager grin. “Perhaps this is also the result of the corruption to my core, but…hearing that only makes me more willing to try it.”

That could be it. Or it could simply be that Lucifer’s finally letting himself experience the emotions he’s kept so carefully curated all this time. Sandalphon suspects it to be a combination of both; impulsive decisions and trapping someone in a hug are hardly in line with his usual behavior, so it can’t entirely be attributed to excitement. That’s slightly worrying, but…

But when the former primarch gives him a brilliant smile, shining more brightly than anything Sandalphon has ever seen, he decides it doesn’t matter. Even if he’s not strictly the same person from two thousand years ago, he’s still Lucifer.

And that’s all Sandalphon has ever needed.


End file.
